


Templar Cafe

by djsoliloquy



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-11
Updated: 2014-01-11
Packaged: 2018-01-08 08:09:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1130304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/djsoliloquy/pseuds/djsoliloquy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“And want to know the best part?” Thomas said with an evil grin. “I visited Mr. Johnson in the clink and he says the health inspector’s got a vendetta against you, Charlie. For what was it? Oh, that's right, nearly poisoning his entire town. With muffins, or something.”</p><p> </p><p>The Templars run a coffee shop. Absolutely nothing goes wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Templar Cafe

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a kinkmeme prompt and tanya, who brainstormed basically the whole thing out with me. Shady coffeeshop Templars playing TSwift. ah, good times.

A bell rang over the hum of coffee house chatter and thick whirr of the espresso machines. It indicated the shop’s front door had been opened, and it completely failed to attract the attention of the men examining paperwork in the coffee shop’s back office. The grayish room they sat in was spiritually removed from the shop, associated mostly through lingering acrid scents of burnt coffee or sweet aromas of baked goods when the door was closed.   
  
The door was usually closed, as a rule. And, unlike the bell, it caught the interest of the room’s occupants rather spectacularly when it burst open without warning.  
  
“He’s here,” said Thomas, looking like he’d left the front counter in a hurry. A dollop of pillowy foam had caught in his hair and gravity was pulling it down by increments. “Damn, someone put the Taylor Swift on the shop speakers, would you? We need to look ordinary.” He wrestled with his apron before flinging it at the table where Haytham and Charles sat watching him.   
  
The apron hit Charles in the face. “Who?” he asked, scowling as he wrenched it off.   
  
Thomas rolled his eyes. “ _Taylor Swift_ ,” he said. The puff of foam on his head at last slid to the floor. “What rock’ve you been living under? CD’s over on the thing.”  
  
“I meant,” Charles said, then frowned. “Why in the world would we need to—”  
  
“Who’s here, Thomas?” said Haytham, interrupting both of them.   
  
Charles and Thomas glanced at each other, the former in annoyance and later in haughty triumph. “Undercover health inspector,” said Thomas. “One who got Mr. Johnson arrested for whatever it is he done in that bullshit cover story we made up for him.”   
  
“Errors in completely unrelated lease agreements,” said Charles. It was not the first reminder. He stood and followed Thomas to the lone crackly security monitor. “How do you know it’s the health inspector if he’s undercover?”  
  
Thomas snorted but didn’t take his eyes off the security feed. “He’s practically got a sign over his head says  _Hello My Name Is HEALTH INSPECTOR, How Can I Fuck Up Your Tomorrow_  in bright blinky letters. There, that’s him.” He tapped one of the grainy black-and-white shapes on the screen moving around the coffee shop. Features were vague, but the silhouette in question was tall and broad-shouldered even on the shadowy monitor.

“And want to know the best part?” Thomas said with an evil grin. “I visited Mr. Johnson in the clink and he says the kid’s got a vendetta against  _you_ , Charlie. For what was it? Oh, that's right, nearly  _poisoning his entire town_. With muffins, or something.”   
  
Charles stared at him, mouth open. “I… but this is ridiculous, of course I didn't! How would I even  _do_  that?” he snarled, his face blooming in red angry splotches. “More likely he’s dug up leads on your money schemes! You’ll be put away even longer than William if they find anything on the counterfeiting.”  
  
“Come on, muffin man,” Thomas said with an ugly laugh. He raised an eyebrow. “Ain’t you even a little embarrassed how silly that food poisoning charge makes you sound? Eh, mister couldn’t-get-one-measly-promotion-at-George’s-Bakery?”  
  
Charles threw his shoulders back. “At least I can get within a yard of an oven without catching fire from the whiskey vapors, Mr. Hickey!”  
  
Hands reached around both of them, covering their mouths. Haytham had silently drawn up behind them while they talked and now he held them snug and quiet in tight matching grips. “Peace, gentlemen,” Haytham said calmly. “I don’t think there’s any need to lose our heads over this, is there? We’ve dealt with his profession before and we will again. Must you lick, Thomas?”   
  
Thomas hummed something thoughtful and affirmative into Haytham’s palm.   
  
“And the health inspector is unaware Charles and I are here? Good.” Haytham watched the security camera feed with mild interest. “If all goes well this should be uneventful. Charles? With me. Thomas, I want you to remain here and make sure anything incriminating is dealt with. Understood?”  
  
After nods, Haytham released the two of them and went to start collecting papers from the table. Thomas watched him go with an open, hungry look and brought a thumb up to wipe the glisten of saliva from his mouth.   
  
“Wossmatter, sweetheart?” he said with a chuckle, catching sight of Charles glaring at him. “Yours ain’t got whipped cream on it?”


End file.
